


The Man Without a Heart

by MaevesChild



Series: Borders Yet to Be [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Maric Theirin died and Anora Mac Tir Theirin and Cailan Theirin were coronated, Loghain returned to Gwaren in 9:25 Dragon.</p><p>For 3 years, he lived in relative peace. </p><p>But Loghain didn't know how to cope with peace.  He needed help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Without a Heart

_9:25 Dragon._

Loghain Mac Tir returned to Gwaren a broken man.

He had always been cracked, dented and tarnished, but Maric's disappearance (couldn't say death, or he'd get this angry, far away look) had touched him in a way nothing else ever had.  Maric was part of his identity and now he was gone, to whatever end.  A piece was missing.

Maeve Mac Tir was used to fixing things, especially those that were deemed beyond repair.  She'd been the driving force behind rebuilding Gwaren castle, rebuilding Gwaren itself and after a hasty but rather passionate marriage proposal, building a Teyrn out of an outlaw farmboy.  She was also used to her husband despite many long months of separation and distances.  

Their marriage started with an argument.  There had been many more since.

It wasn't a love match, not really, though she knew he'd come to care about her as much as he was capable of.  And there was no doubt she'd come to love him.  It didn't matter if neither of them said it.

It was a match of wits and of respect.  If nothing else, Maeve always knew Loghain respected her; her strength, her intelligence, her ability to organize and to remind him what was important.  Usually he needed her to fill in where he was weak.  He wasn't afraid of admitting what he didn't know how to handle.  He was brilliant with tactics and with battles.  He was useless with the banalities of day to day life.

These days, Gwaren ran as smooth as the sea on a calm day, as did Ferelden as a whole.  Anora might be known as her father's daughter, but she was Maeve's daughter as well.  Anora was a shrewd woman and knew how to make things run as they should.  Denerim was in good hands with her at Cailan's side.  The borders were safe.  Ferelden was at peace.  

There were no battles to be fought these days, except the ones inside Loghain's head.  Those he'd never been able to win.

For months after his return, he moved like a sleepwalker or a ghost.  Maeve let him be, let him mourn.  But he started to collapse in on himself, just like Maric had after Queen Rowan died.  That was one of the few times when Maeve had insisted Loghain go to Denerim.  

Maeve  _knew_ , after all.  She knew Loghain loved Rowan and Maric far more than he'd ever be able to love her.  She understood.

Once, she'd marched into the ruins of the Gwaren Castle courtyard and gave the Hero of River Dane a piece of her mind.  He thanked her for it with a screaming match and a marriage proposal.  She could only hope he'd be grateful this time and not just pull further away.

He was dying; falling away from her and from life by inches.  She wasn't going to just let that happen.

Maeve found him in his study.  It was only midday, but the room was dark and smoky from the smoldering hearth.  He had a glass of Redcliffe brandy in one hand and a pile of maps and books strewn across his desk that he wasn't looking at.  There was the plate of food she'd instructed to be brought to him sitting untouched.  His eyes were blank and glassy, staring at nothing.  

It was still daylight and Loghain was as drunk as a sailor.  Maeve looked at him for a moment and frowned when he didn't even acknowledge she was there.

"Maker's balls Loghain, are you trying to kill yourself?" It was a terrible way to start a conversation, but with Loghain only a hammer would get his attention.

He turned his eyes towards her but not his head.  Maeve just barely resisted the urge to roll hers.  

"If I wanted to kill myself, there are more expedient ways to accomplish it than drinking."  His words were overly precise, as if he was struggling to not let her see how drunk he really was.  Of course, it was foolish to try.  They'd been married for more than twenty years.  

Maeve knew.

She sighed.  "Shall I fetch your sword for you to fall on then?" Maeve shook her head at him, at piece of blonde hair escaping her careful braids as she crossed the room.  She tucked the errant hair behind her ear and leaned against the side of his heavy desk, folding her arms over her chest.

He didn't reply, only scowled at her.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" she asked, gesturing at him with her chin.  "This wallowing?"

Loghain grit his teeth.  "The King of Ferelden is dead," he snapped.  

"The King of Ferelden is married to your daughter and living happily in Denerim," Maeve retorted.  "Life goes on."

Loghain opened his mouth as if he was going to fight back, but then he closed it again and looked away.  He downed the rest of the amber liquid in his glass in a single swallow without flinching.  That frightened her.  Loghain was unbearably contrary at the best of times.  He always needed to have the last word.  Something really was broken inside of him this time.

She felt tears uncharacteristically prick at the corners of her eyes.  It was one thing for Loghain to be sullen and angry.  He was always like that.  This was something else entirely.  Sliding papers out of the way, she cleared off the corner of his desk and sat.  She looked at Loghain for a while, waiting for him to respond, to say anything.  When he didn't, she reached out and put her hand on his cheek, turning his face to look at her.  It took a moment for his eyes to focus.  She waited.

"What?" he finally managed.

"Loghain, this-" She had no idea what to say.  They so rarely forged into emotional matters together that didn't involve Anora.  But whatever else, over all these years Loghain had become a part of her.  She imagined what it would be like if he was absent, lost, gone.  She could feel her heart clench at the mere idea.  

Maric and Loghain were closer than brothers, and now that both he and Rowan were gone?  The emptiness had to be alarming.  Loghain wasn't built for that sort of thing.  

Maeve put her other hand on his face, cradling it between her palms.  His cheeks were rough from several days of not shaving, warm and clammy from drink.  His eyes were bloodshot and there were purple rings under his eyes.  His usually cool blue gaze was bleary instead.

"Loghain," she started again.  " _Husband._   Please."

He closed his eyes.  "I haven't been much of a husband," he said.  Before she could interject he opened his eyes and continued.  "I should have gone with him."

Maeve felt her mouth open.  "What? No, I don't-"  She shook her head.  "Don't say that."

He snorted.  "Why not?  Gwaren doesn't need me, Denerim doesn't need me.  But maybe Maric did.  Maybe I could have-" He sighed, turning his eyes away again.  "You said it yourself; Life goes on.  And it doesn't need me."

"Life does go on," she said.  "But whatever foolishness you might think, you are still alive."  She sat back, letting her hands drop into her lap.  "I never thought you'd give up so easy." 

His eyes snapped back at her.  " _Easy_ , bah," he grunted.  "Nothing has ever been fucking easy."  He followed the profanity with a wild hand gesture.  "I'm utterly finished.  I've worn out my usefulness."

"Hardly," Maeve shook her head.  "But you do need to stop fighting battles that are already lost and won.  Why don't you try peace for a while?  You might like it."

He stared at her for a heartbeat.  "I don't know how to not fight." He sighed.  "I was only six years old when they murdered my mother.  I've been fighting ever since."

"I know," she said.  And she did.  She knew more about him than anyone living did.  Certainly, Maric knew him better and Rowan...Maeve pushed away the pang of jealousy that still arose with her name.  "But maybe," she began and stuttered into silence.  She was rarely cowed, but she was no more comfortable with emotional matters than he was.  But she didn't want to lose him now, not when they might finally have a chance to live together and be together like actual married people.  What a waste to give it all up now.

"But maybe," she repeated.  She reconsidered.  " _Before,"_  she began, knowing he would understand without elaboration.  "Do you remember what your life was like? With your mother and father and Adalla?"  That mabari was the closest thing he'd had to an actual sibling.  She was as much a part of the family as the rest of them.

"Not much," he said.  "A little.  I didn't even understand about the Orlesian occupation.  It was just life on the farm with my dog."  His mouth curved a little.  It wasn't a smile, but at least he wasn't scowling anymore.  "I was happy."

"You could be happy again," she said.  "If you let yourself."

He blinked at her.  "I don't know that I can be happy.  How can I honor them?" he admitted.  "Everyone is dead.  My parents," he made a sad noise,  "Adalla, Rowan, Maric. If I'm happy I-"

"Anora is still alive," she said, matter-of-fact.  "And so am I. I know, we don't quite compare to-"

He cut her off abruptly, his hand grabbing her thigh right above her knee.  "Don't say that," he said quickly.  "That's not true."

"Then don't do this," she pleaded.  Maeve so rarely did that; she so rarely admitted that their marriage was more than a business arrangement.  But it was and it always had been, at least for her part.  "They are gone, but they wouldn't want to you fade away any more than I do.  Because you are wrong.  Gwaren does need you; it always has.  Anora certainly needs you and her husband will as well.  There is no one who knows more about the intricate mess of Ferelden politics than you do.  Perhaps you're not needed  _in_  Denerim, but they will need your council.  And just need  _you._ "  She swallowed hard.  "So do I."

He let out a long breath through his nose.  "You're the most self sufficient person I've ever known," he said, his voice quiet.  "That's why I married you.  You've never needed me."

Maeve shook her head.  "For such a brilliant man, you can be so stupid."  She put her hand over his, sliding her fingers, as calloused and worn as his were around his palm.  "I love you, you blind oaf.  So stop dying and try living instead."

He actually smiled his time, sadly as if he might cry instead of laugh but it was a start.  "Andraste's ass woman," he said.  He made a face, considered.  "I lo-"  

Maeve quickly stopped him with her fingers over his lips.  "Shhh," she hushed.  "Don't start that now."  He'd never once told her he loved her.  She didn't want to hear it.  She'd far rather he showed her.  She reached across the desk and grabbed the plate of food, sliding it toward him.  "Go on," she said, waving her hand over the plate. "Start here."

He took the crust of bread from the plate and took a bite.  He chewed and swallowed like it was a battle in itself, but he did it and took a second bite.  That one went easier.

"Happy?" he said between bites.

Maeve smiled with the corner of her mouth.  "I'm getting there."

When he looked at her this time, some of the man she recognized he returned.  He might not love her, or maybe he did, but certainly he respected her opinion and the bread disappearing into his belly was proof enough of that.  Maeve put her hand on the side of his neck and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  He actually managed to smile at her then and seemed to mean it.

"That's better," she said.  "When you've eaten, come with me for a walk in the garden.  You need the fresh air.  As long as you promise not to touch anything."

He chuckled.  "I learned my lesson about that a long time ago."  He looked a bit sheepish.  "I still have the scars from that Maker damned rosebush."

"So do I," she said cryptically.  He looked confused so she continued.  "That's when I knew I was actually in love with you, foolish as it was."

"if I'd known you'd demand blood, I might have gone about it differently."

Maeve laughed.  

There he was.  Finally.  Her heart raced.  He wasn't going to fall to pieces after all.

"You know, that rosebush is by far the largest one in the garden," she said.

"Blood magic," he retorted and took another bite.

Their hands were still entwined on her knee.  He might not ever say it.  She wasn't sure she wanted him to.  It didn't matter.

_Maeve knew._  


End file.
